


First, Do No Harm

by Rocky_T



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 08:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18989089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocky_T/pseuds/Rocky_T
Summary: What would happen if you got three contemporaneous Trek doctors together at a medical conference?Originally written and posted December 2005





	First, Do No Harm

As medical conferences go this wasn't so bad, Bashir thought to himself. Granted there were more enchanting spots in the universe than Starbase 86, but at least the papers presented so far had been moderately interesting and the amenities not _too_ lacking. From the perspective of someone who'd been held in a Dominion prison camp, that is.

He wrinkled his nose in distaste as he entered the VIP lounge. "Good heavens, what is that odor?" he exclaimed. 

"I have no idea," said the red haired woman he hadn't noticed sitting on the couch. "But you get used to it after a while."

"Is that Scotch?" Bashir asked, moving over to the wet bar.

"Saurian brandy," the woman said, raising her glass in salute. "But I'm sure you can find something else if you prefer." She took a long sip of her drink. "Beverly Crusher."

"Chief Medical Officer of the _Enterprise_ ," Bashir said, nodding. He'd thought she looked familiar. "Or is it Head of Starfleet Medical? Forgive me, it's so hard to keep track of current postings these days…"

"The _Enterprise_ ," Crusher said in a strangled voice.

"Ah, yes. At the personal request of Captain Picard, I believe? Fascinating how he manages to keep his supporting staff with him for _decades_ , when one might assume they'd move on with their careers."

Crusher's eyes narrowed. "And what of yourself? Julian Bashir, isn't it? Still practicing 'frontier medicine' over at Deep Space Nine?"

"Actually, far from being the 'frontier' these days," Bashir said with a frown of his own, "in many ways we're ideally situated for any number of amazing developments--"

"--the crossroads of the Galaxy," Crusher said, replenishing her glass. "Of course."

Bashir opened his mouth, only to be cut off by yet another arrival.

"What is that smell?" demanded a balding man.

"You get used to it," Bashir and Crusher said in unison. 

Bashir then glanced curiously at the vaguely familiar features of the newcomer. "Dr. Zimmerman? Lewis Zimmerman? What are you doing here?" He turned to Crusher. "Zimmerman's a holoprogrammer."

"Someone who writes those horrid little holosuite adventures?" Crusher wondered.

"Not a holonovelist, but a holographic engineer," the man corrected. "Specifically, the Director of Holographic Imaging and Programming at Jupiter Station." He leveled his severe gaze on them both. "But I am not Dr. Zimmerman."

Bashir's attention was drawn to the unusual metal badge pinned to the man's left sleeve. "That's right!" he snapped his fingers. "You're one of his Emergency Medical Holograms!"

"One of the old Mark I's," Crusher said, nodding. "Right. I'm surprised I didn't recognize you right away, but considering I never turned that thing on in my sickbay if I could help it--"

"I am the _Voyager_ Doctor," the EMH said, drawing himself up to his full height.

"Charmed," said Crusher. "Beverly Crusher."

"Julian Bashir." He waited for the EMH to offer a name, some identifier beyond his position on _Voyager_. When none was forthcoming, Bashir shrugged. "Don't suppose you'd like a drink?"

"Hardly," the EMH sniffed. "I just came here for some peace and quiet, a chance to go over my notes one more time before my presentation. I'm slated to give the major paper this evening, _Dipsothylic Hybridized Macrovirri Applications To_ \--"

"I'm sure it's fascinating," Bashir said. Crusher yawned.

"Forgive me, but I didn't notice either of your names on the list of presenters?" the EMH said oh-so-politely. He seated himself gingerly on the edge of the couch, after first moving away a large bowl that contained a few popcorn dregs. "This belong to one of you?"

Bashir poured himself another drink. The EMH pulled out a PADD and rather ostentatiously began to make a few last-minute notations. Crusher filed her nails.

The silence was broken by a sudden crackle of the comm system. "Medical Emergency. All available units please report to the Aloha Deck, Section 47 Alpha. Repeat. Medical Emergency. All available units--"

"What was that?" Bashir said blankly. He looked at his glass suspiciously before taking another swallow.

"Emergency Medical Comm Channel," the EMH said, putting down his PADD with a bang. He was on his feet and moving toward the door before the other two could react.

"But why is it audible here?" Crusher asked. "This is the VIP lounge."

"I have my comm badge set to monitor the channel," the EMH said briefly. "One never knows when expert medical advice will be needed."

"Now wait just a second," Bashir said. He hurried after the EMH into the corridor, Crusher hot on his heels. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To offer my assistance, of course," the EMH said as if it would be obvious to a Pakled. "Someone is in need of medical attention."

"If anyone is rendering assistance," Crusher said, "I would think it would be someone more eminently qualified, an actual person for starters, whose experience covers a lot more than just a few years in the middle of a backwater quadrant--"

"Backwater quadrant!" said the EMH indignantly. "And as far as being a person, I'll have you know--"

"--or a minor space station--" Crusher continued, giving Bashir a withering look.

" _Minor_ , did you say?" Bashir said. "I suppose you think bouncing back and forth between Starfleet Medical is a good way of honing your abilities--"

Thus bickering, the trio arrived at the cabin in question.

"Computer, medical emergency override, authorization Bashir Pi Gamma 4444," Bashir said quickly, grateful his genetically modified reflexes were superior to the other two's.

"I was just about to say that!" the EMH said, trying to block Bashir from entering first.

Crusher meanwhile pushed her way inside the cabin and gasped. The interior was a shambles. Furniture had been disturbed, chairs and tables knocked over. On the floor, an overturned wine decanter lay on its side, a crimson puddle spreading slowly outward. A cabernet sauvignon, Bashir surmised, as he approached. Nearby, shards of curved glass were scattered over the carpet, their trajectory almost as if they'd been thrown.

"Should we call Security?" the EMH murmured, his bravado suddenly extinguished by the scene of apparent violence which greeted them.

Bashir put his finger to his lips and shook his head. His excellent--and far more acute than regular humans' or holograms'--hearing could detect faint yet harsh breathing coming from an inner room.

Crusher knelt down and picked up a gray and black piece of fabric and shook it out. It was a Starfleet uniform, a man's tunic from the size of it. She examined the collar. There were holes where the pips should have been; the material was ragged, almost as if they'd been bitten off. Crusher searched until she found them--four small gold objects. They had been half hidden under what looked suspiciously like a black lace thong. 

There was more clothing, scattered throughout the rest of the room. Bashir automatically cataloged it: a boot, another boot with a decidedly higher heel and pointier toe, a black demi-bra, another uniform tunic, this one with an Admiral's bar half hanging off the collar, a pair of red silk boxers emblazoned with tiny purple hearts---

"We've got to get out of here!" Bashir hissed to his companions. "We've made a terrible mistake!"

"What are you talking about?" the EMH said. "Listen!"

A low moan reverberated from the doorway, followed by what appeared to be, "Oh, God, I'm dying!"

"Someone's in trouble!" the EMH said. He moved toward the inner room and flung open the door. The words of the individuals within suddenly became much clearer.

"I'm dying! Oh God! God! Ah! Kathryn! I can't take much more of this!"

"Just a little more, my love, mon ami, my French love pudding!"

"You idiot!" Bashir said, rounding on the EMH in a hurry. "This is a tryst!"

"A tryst?" the EMH said blankly.

"A romantic encounter, a sexual rendezvous--"

"I know what a tryst is!" the EMH said. "I've even experienced one or two for myself, thank you very much, but what I fail to see is--"

"It's not a medical emergency!" Bashir said.

"Not yet," said Crusher unexpectedly, as the amorous couple, aware of their audience, sat up slowly.

"What is going on here?" said the man in bed, who Bashir recognized now that his face was no longer obscured.

"Captain Picard!" said the EMH, who clearly recognized him as well. "And Admiral Janeway, too, I see. Are either of you in need of medical assistance?"

"Why would you think we were in need of--" Admiral Janeway hastily pulled the sheet up around her shoulders.

"You were broadcasting on the Emergency Medical Assistance channel," the EMH said helpfully. "Or rather, you must have triggered an alert--perhaps your comm badge became activated when it fell or was somehow jostled and enough of your conversation was overheard to make the computer think there was some type of emergency--" he paused. "'I'm dying' does have a way of gaining people's attention," he added with a smirk.

"Yes, well, glad that everything is fine, we'll just be on our way," Bashir said, grabbing the EMH and pulling him toward the door. "Dr. Crusher?"

"Oh, I'll be a few minutes longer," she said, not taking her eyes off her commanding officer. "I just want to make sure that the Captain isn't feeling any lingering 'distress'."

The Admiral hastily scooted out of bed and donned her robe. "If memory serves, you're giving a presentation this evening, aren't you, Doctor?" she said to the EMH.

"Why, yes, I am," the EMH said, clearly pleased at her thoughtfulness.

"Why don't you give me a preview?" Janeway asked going with them to the door. She winced at the sudden increase in volume of the voices coming from the bedroom. "In fact, if you'll give me a minute, I'll just come with you to the ballroom."

"Certainly," the EMH said. "Are you sure this won't conflict with any other plans you have, Admiral? I would hate to inconvenience--"

"Oh, I don't think you need to worry about that now," Janeway said firmly.

"Indeed," said Bashir. Under his breath he muttered, "Who said medical conferences are boring?"

**Author's Note:**

> A challenge response to include the following items:  
> Crusher, Bashir, the EMH, a uniform with 4 pips, and a bowl of popcorn


End file.
